


The Homecoming

by MelindaYoung



Series: Starman Wisconsin Trilogy [1]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelindaYoung/pseuds/MelindaYoung
Summary: Hoping to find clues about Jenny Hayden's whereabouts, Paul and Scott travel to her hometown of Madison, Wisconsin. While they discover no leads, they unexpectedly encounter the family of the late Scott Hayden, including his mysterious mother, his laconic father, and his sisters and their families. Without identifying themselves, they stay in town so Scott can develop a relationship with the family. George Fox arrives, and the pair will need the help of the Haydens to escape.PLEASE NOTE: This story is part one of the Starman Wisconsin Trilogy. All three stories are posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Melinda%20Young and https://archiveofourown.org/series/18088. Thank you for your interest!
Series: Starman Wisconsin Trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618975
Kudos: 1





	The Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to the characters and scenarios from the Starman television series. I do own the rights to my original characters, plot elements, and settings, especially the affectionate snark directed at Madison, Wisconsin, the hometown of both Jenny Hayden and this author. No financial benefit has been derived from the creation of this fan fiction, not even a free drink at a con. I am immensely grateful to the owners, developers, and creative partners of the Starman universe for their artistry and vision.  
> Original elements © Melinda Young 1989, 2019

After a week and a half of trying to find work in central Utah, Paul and Scott headed north. The heat of summer had finally burned off, and the days were clear and the nights cloudless and crisp.

The hitchhiking was no better than the job market, and they spent many days and nights in the open country. Scott had several old textbooks with him, and Paul was in the habit of giving him pop quizzes.

On a chilly night, they made camp in the light of a fiery sunset off the road near a small stream. Scott was reading a geometry book in the last of the light as Paul put together some tinder and kindling for a fire. He was about to ignite the wood with his sphere when he thought better of it. “Scott, why don’t you start the fire tonight?”

Scott glanced up hesitantly from his reading, then quickly looked back down with a forced shrug. “No, that’s okay. You do it.”

“I think you need the practice.”

“Really, Dad, that’s okay.”

There was something definitely odd about this. Paul looked at his son seriously. “You haven’t been using your sphere much lately. Why not?”

“Look, Dad, do you mind?” Scott said, keeping up his cool routine as he indicated the book. “I was just getting to the good part.”

Paul frowned at the book. “I didn’t know geometry books had a good part.”

“Really, it’s very well written. Fascinating.” Scott tried to hide behind the book.

“Something’s worrying you. What is it?”

His act wasn’t working, and Scott finally gave up, putting down the book slowly. “Dad, is it possible that I could...outgrow...being able to use the sphere?” Paul reacted thoughtfully. “I mean, who knows what’s going to happen to me as I get older. We don’t know. I could change.”

Paul shook his head. “No, you won’t lose that. Come on. Try it and see.”

Reluctantly, Scott set the book aside and reached into his pocket for his sphere. Under Paul’s watchful eye, Scott connected with his sphere and it began to glow and hum softly. He looked at the firewood, but nothing happened. Frustrated, Scott tried harder, but still there was nothing. He muttered distractedly, and the sphere faded and stopped. Scott regarded it angrily and looked for a moment as if he wanted to toss it. “Look, Dad, I can’t do this, all right? You start the fire.”

“No, Scott, try it again. Don’t think this time,” Paul said patiently.

“How am I supposed to do it if I don’t think about it?”

“Just see it happening.”

Scott frowned. He was in no mood for this.

“You see,” Paul continued, “when you try too hard, your thoughts block the flow.”

“But I have to try hard. How else am I going to do it?”

Paul thought for a moment, searching for the words. “Doing something and thinking about doing something are two different things. Thoughts are very powerful. You can create barriers when you think about something too much.”

Scott got up agitatedly. “Look, I can’t do it, all right? You start the fire.” He turned and walked away, leaving his father quiet and concerned.

The next morning, they had walked nearly two miles before Paul felt it was appropriate to bring up the incident. “I’m sorry if I made you angry.”

Scott shrugged apologetically. “It’s okay. I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to be like that.”

“There are some things I want to explain to you, but I don’t know how.” Paul sighed. “I think I’m beginning to understand impatience. I don’t think I like it.”

Scott smiled lightly. “Don’t worry about it. Like you said, someday I’ll know what you know.” They smiled at each other.

They turned the corner of the back road and stopped with surprise. An old Cadillac was sitting halfway in a ditch in front of them, its tail fins pointing at an odd angle high in the air. It looked as if a whale that had come up for air and had gotten stuck on the way back down to the depths. Prancing agitatedly around the car was a small, bald man in a dapper western suit. He was desperate to do something about the situation, but he didn’t know where to begin. He kept moving around the car and inspecting it as if some answer would suddenly present itself. He looked up at Paul and Scott gratefully as they approached. “Thank goodness! I didn’t know what I was going to do!”

“What happened?” Paul asked.

“I was coming around the turn when the front tire blew. I lost control and, ...” He pointed at the car.

“Are you all right?” Paul asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. But I’m worried about Barbara,” he said, patting the car.

Paul became very concerned. “Is she hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” he said forlornly. “Her grillwork’s a little dented and she’s lost a headlight.”

Paul stared at him as the man walked around to the front of the car. Scott leaned over to his father confidentially. “Barbara’s the name of his car.”

Paul sighed with relief, then gave his son a nonchalant shrug as he started after the man. “I knew that.”

The two joined him at the car’s front end. He looked at them with lost-puppy eyes. “Can you help me get her out?”

Paul and Scott looked at the front end. It didn’t look badly damaged, but the angle at which the car was resting in the ditch was awkward for pushing it out. The man stood behind them in a hopeful pose. Paul sighed. “We can try.”

The man nearly jumped up and down with glee. “Great! I have a rope in the trunk. Maybe that will help.” He turned to go, then abruptly turned back and thrust his hand at Paul. “Brutus McKay.”

“Paul Forrester,” Paul said as he shook his hand. “This is my son, Scott.” McKay nodded at Scott, then abruptly turned back again to his errand.

As McKay disappeared around the back of the car, Scott assessed the car’s situation with a frown. “Dad, are you kidding? We’re never going to get this thing out of here. It’s a bus and a half.” He lowered his voice. “Or are you going to, you know?” He shrugged slightly.

“Are _you_ kidding?” Paul glanced back at the man, who was standing on tiptoe, trying to open the car’s trunk at its odd angle. “I’ll do it, but you’ll have to explain it to him.” His eyes sparkled. “Or better yet, you do it. You can practice with the sphere and I can practice explaining.”

Scott laughed humorlessly as his father smiled. “I definitely liked you better without the sense of humor.”

Paul laughed and took off his jacket.

Two hours and seven arduous tries later, Paul, Scott, and McKay had gotten the Cadillac out of the ditch and the flat tire changed. Scott was passed out in the back seat with the bags and Paul rode in front as McKay drove swiftly down the road with casual familiarity.

“So, Paul, what do you do for a living?” McKay asked. “Is that a camera bag back there?”

“Yes, I’m a photographer.”

“There’s a lot of pretty country around here. I always meant to try my hand at taking a picture or two, but I never seem to have the time in my business.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

Paul paused. The phrase sounded familiar. “... How do you hunt bounties?”

McKay laughed. “By using my head. I don’t go in for that shoot-’em-up stuff. I might get shot.” He laughed again, and Paul realized he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Not that I haven’t caught some dangerous characters. I’ve nailed some of the worst. Do you remember Bart Innis?”

“No.”

“Oh.” McKay reacted with disappointment, but he shrugged it off. “Well, he was my biggest catch. You see, he and his brother had this five-state cattle rustling ring....”

The rest of the trip to the truck stop on the interstate was filled with McKay’s animated recounting of his adventures. Paul soon realized with much relief that McKay had no idea who he and Scott were and that they were safe with him. The trip passed pleasantly, and that special bond between a good storyteller and a good listener guaranteed their friendship by the time they reached their destination.

At the truck stop, McKay happily paid for showers for Paul and Scott and bought them lunch.

McKay watched with satisfaction as Scott polished off his third piece of pie and sat back slowly. “I am totally stuffed,” Scott announced and McKay chuckled.

“Paul, I owe you and Scott a big favor. I have to be in Rock Springs by eight o’clock, and I never would have made it if you two hadn’t gotten me out of that ditch. What can I do to repay you?”

Paul looked at Scott, and they shrugged at each other. “Lunch was wonderful.”

“No, no, more than that.” He regarded the two. “You know, part of my job is reading people. You’re not just out here taking pictures.”

Paul looked at his friend and shook his head, then glanced at Scott. “We’re looking for Scott’s mother.” Scott reacted with muted surprise but said nothing.

McKay nodded, then gave Scott a significant look. “I knew it had to be something important to keep a boy that age out of school.” Scott offered a lackluster smile. “Ninety percent of what I do is finding out where people are,” McKay continued. “I’m sorry I can’t find her for you. I’ve got three cases waiting for me already. But I can teach you some tricks for locating people.” Paul and Scott brightened up at this. “What’s her name?”

“She’s changed it,” Paul said quickly.

“Well, what about her family?”

“She has a brother. We’ve seen him already.”

“No good, huh?”

“She’s moved again.”

“What about her parents?”

Paul and Scott looked at each other. They’d never thought of that.

“What’s her maiden name?” McKay asked.

“Geffner,” Scott said eagerly.

“Hometown?”

“Madison, Wisconsin,” Paul answered.

McKay shrugged. “That’s a start. My advice is you go to the main library in Salt Lake and look up all the Geffners in the Madison phone book. If you think they’ll help you over the phone, call them. If you don’t, go to Madison and track them down. I always say when you want to find someone, the best place to start is where they started.” He leaned forward with a confident air. “You’ll never go wrong if you stick with McKay’s Rules for Good Detecting: Pay attention to details, trust your intuition, and always let your client pick up the tab.”

Paul and Scott smiled at McKay gratefully.

There were three Geffners listed in the Madison phone book. Paul and Scott wrote the addresses and phone numbers down and headed straight back to the highway. The hitchhiking was better, and within five days they were riding into Madison in the back of a van filled with energetic Iowa football fans heading for the annual showdown with the Wisconsin Badgers.

At first, Scott was nervous and excited about meeting these strangers who were his grandparents, but the closer they got the quieter he became. By the time the football fans dropped them off downtown, Scott was downright morose. As they settled in for the night at a hostel, Paul finally eased it out of him.

“What about Fox?” Scott said with agitation. “He might have someone watching them.”

“I don’t think so, not after all this time. That’s not it. What’s the matter?”

Scott fidgeted for a few moments, and then all the words tumbled out at once. “What am I supposed to say to them? I mean, do I just walk up to them and say, ‘Hi, I’m your grandson. This is my dad. He came back from outer space. You seen Mom lately?’” Paul sat back and let Scott fume. “How are we supposed to know which ones they are? And what if they hate Mom and think she’s crazy? What if they’re in it with Fox? What if they don’t want to see me...?” Scott turned away and began picking at his backpack distractedly.

“I don’t know, Scott. But if they’re Jenny’s parents, I know they’ll like you.”

After a flicker of doubt, half a hopeful smile slipped onto Scott’s face.

A morning of traveling around Madison in a rented car revealed that none of the Geffners in the phone book were Jenny’s family. Scott thought their number might be unlisted, so Paul and Scott used Brutus McKay’s advice again and went to the Madison Public Library to look through old phone books dating from before Scott was born. They found a listing that seemed promising, but when they went to the address in the book, they found a different family’s name on the mailbox. No one was home, so Paul tucked Scott safely away in the car and went up to a neighbor’s house.

A woman in her fifties answered the knock and opened the door, wiping her hands on an apron.

“Hi,” Paul said cheerily. “I’m looking for the Geffner house.”

“And who are you?” the woman said without pretense to politeness.

“Paul Forrester. I know Wayne.”

He passed her test, and she relented. She indicated the house next door. “That’s where Wayne grew up. I thought he’d come back to live here after his mother died, but I guess he’s settled in Albuquerque.”

Paul couldn’t hide his dismay as he looked at the house.

The woman continued, “He was back for the funeral, of course, and to sell the house. Phyllis keeps in touch. They’ve promised to bring his son to visit if they can get him out of Vietnam.”

“So, there was no one else to live in the house?” Paul said without much hope. The woman shook her head. He glanced back at the car. “Is she buried near here?”

“No,” she said. “Louise’s ashes were scattered out on the lake up by their old cabin, just like John’s were.”

He was at a loss for what to say. He smiled politely and nodded.

She continued, “Next time you see Wayne and Phyllis, you tell them we miss them and think about them all the time.”

He nodded and walked slowly back to the car.

When Paul told him the news, Scott was inconsolable. He sat in gloomy silence, staring out the window, with only an occasional mumble escaping. Paul had no idea how to cheer him up or even distract him.

While they were stopped for lunch, Paul thought of something. He left Scott in the car and went to make a long phone call. He came back with some handwritten notes and got into the car with an air of mystery.

“What?” Scott said with more than a hint of anger. “You got another great idea?”

Paul pulled the car out of the parking lot. “There’s a place I think we should go before we leave.”

Scott said nothing as they drove, but his attention level perked up when Paul directed the car into a cemetery. “I thought you said they weren’t buried here.”

Paul said nothing, but consulted his notes and moved the car through the winding lanes. Scott was mystified when Paul stopped the car and got out. “Come on,” Paul said with a smile and walked away, following his notes. Scott got out and followed.

Paul had stopped in front of a marker by the time Scott caught up with him. Scott glanced down at the marker, then did a massive double take. The marker read, “Scott William Hayden, 1948-1971.” The marker and several others around it were adorned with some withered flowers. Paul was regarding the marker peacefully as Scott stared at him. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I thought you might like to see it.”

“But it’s not like he’s my father.”

“He is.”

“No, he isn’t. You are.”

“We both are.”

Scott frowned at this. “He can’t be my father.”

Paul shrugged. “Without him, you wouldn’t have been born. You’re his son, too, Scott.”

Scott looked at the marker for a long moment. He looked back at Paul, who was obliquely watching him. Scott stepped up to the marker, then after another long moment he walked around and looked at the other Hayden markers surrounding it. “... Look, there’s someone who was in the Civil War.” He gazed at his newfound family while Paul watched with a smile. Scott turned back to him. “I never knew what it was like to have a family—you know, like cousins and aunts and uncles. The Lockharts were nice and everything, but it wasn’t the same.” He looked around at the markers again. “It would have been nice to meet some of them.”

A woman’s voice came in from behind them. “It’s quite a clan, isn’t it?”

Both Paul and Scott turned with surprise and saw a woman in her sixties approaching them. She was a woman of strong good looks and sweet civility. She stopped next to them and regarded the group of markers, several bunches of fresh flowers in her hands. The two stared at her, and she looked at Paul politely. “Did you know Scott?”

“...I knew his wife,” Paul said and instantly wished he hadn’t. Scott cringed.

“That was almost the same as knowing him,” she said with a fond smile. “They were very close.”

Paul reacted with surprise. “Are you...?”

“Mary Hayden,” she replied. “Scott’s mother.”

Paul and Scott stared at her.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, giving Paul a quick scrutinizing onceover. She politely extended her hand.

“Paul Forrester,” he said quickly and shook her hand.

“And you?” she said with a warm smile as she held her hand out to Scott.

“...Scott.” He shook her hand awkwardly as he glanced at his father.

“Oh, really?” she said with delight. “Were you named after my Scott?”

“...Yes,” Paul said. He eased his way in unevenly, “I met Jenny while she was still, I mean, right after, ah, and...Scott’s mother thought she should name him...Scott.”

“What a nice thing to do,” Mary said with a sweet smile as she regarded the edgy Scott. “Did your mother know Jenny, too?”

“...Yeah,” Scott stammered.

She regarded Scott with appreciation, and she cocked her head a bit to one side. “You know, you even look a little like he did at that age. Except of course he was blond.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Well, Scott Forrester, would you like to help me? There’s a bucket over there at that faucet. Would you fill it with water and bring it over here? I need to change these flowers.” Scott looked at Paul, and then went over to the faucet.

Mary knelt before the markers and pulled the wilted flowers from the vases, replacing them with the fresh ones. “Have you seen Jenny recently?”

“No.”

“How was she when you last saw her?”

“...Better.”

She moved to Scott’s marker. “Did she talk about the accident much?”

“What accident?” Paul asked with concern.

“Scott’s. Didn’t she tell you?” She put the new flowers in the vase in front of his marker. “She blamed herself, even though it wasn’t her fault. She’d left the lights on in their car when she was shopping. It wouldn’t start, so Scott had to go pick her up. He had the accident on the way there.” She paused, surprised at the freshness of the emotions that came with the memory. She absently straightened the flowers. “Such a silly thing.”

Scott returned with the full bucket. “Okay...Mrs. Hayden, what do you want me to do?”

Paul helped Mary to her feet and she pointed at the vases. “Fill them about half full. I don’t think there’ll be a frost for another couple of days.” Mary watched with appreciation as Scott filled each one and then went back to the faucet with the bucket. She glanced at Paul. “Are you in town long?”

“I don’t know yet,” Paul replied.

“Do you have plans for this evening?” she asked, watching Scott return. “I would be very pleased if you would join us for dinner.”

Scott joined his father, and Paul patted him on the shoulder. “Scott, Mrs. Hayden has invited us to dinner. Would you like to go?”

Scott looked at him, then at her with a blink. “Yeah. Okay.”

She smiled. “Scott, why don’t you ride in my car and your father can follow us?” He looked at Paul, and Paul shrugged. He turned to her with a smile. They walked off together.

The Hayden house was in a cozy wooded neighborhood by a quiet lake. The house had a large yard filled with maples, oaks and birches, which created a breathtaking orange and yellow canopy that extended down to the edge of the water. A canoe rested on its side against an old boathouse, and a small pier extended out into the lake. The air was still, and the placid water reflected the bright colors of the sky and ring of trees around the lake, creating a world of peace and calm.

When the two cars arrived, Mary ushered Scott into the house and down the hall towards the kitchen, and Paul followed. “Hank doesn’t like being disturbed when he’s in his workshop, so you’ll meet him later. I have cookies in the kitchen. Everyone’s coming over after the game tomorrow, and they always expect fresh baked. They keep telling me that’s what grandmas are for.”

They entered the kitchen, where they discovered a man of seventy hunched over the kitchen table, hard at work. Before him were the insides of an old radio, the pieces lined up in tidy rows across the table. He was in the middle of a delicate operation, and he was totally absorbed in his work. Suddenly he caught sight of them and jumped. He looked up at Mary like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She regarded the mess with forgiving unhappiness. It was obvious they had been through this routine before.

“The light’s better in here,” he stated.

“You mean the coffee and cookies are in here.”

He pouted. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that. Might have a heart attack.”

“It would serve you right for turning your hearing aid off.” She looked at Paul and Scott. “That’s his version of tuning people out.”

“I’m only trying to save the battery,” he replied indignantly.

She shook her head while Paul and Scott smiled. “Hank, this is Paul and Scott Forrester.”

Hank nodded to them and went back to his delicate operation. “You friends of Gordon’s?”

Mary looked at him seriously, but spoke with in a gentle tone. “No, dear. They’re friends of Jenny’s.”

He looked up and glared at the two, his face suddenly gray and icy. Within moments he had tossed the neatly arranged radio pieces into a bowl and walked out with it tucked under his arm. Paul and Scott watched, embarrassed and silent. Mary watched him leave, her gentleness gone. “Hank, you can do whatever you like, but they’re staying for dinner.” He vanished down the hall, and several moments later a door slammed. Mary turned to her guests.

“I’m sorry. I thought he’d behave himself. We’ll let him sulk for a while. He’ll show up for dinner.” She sat them down at the table and brought out the cookies.

Hank did show up for dinner, although he didn’t say much more than “Potatoes,” “Salt,” and “Gravy.” He left as soon as he was finished. After he was gone, Mary cheerily told Paul and Scott all about their two daughters and their families. Ellen and Gordon Kuehn had taken over the family business, the Hayden Painting Company; they lived nearby with their teenagers, Tom and Tracy. Sara Fitzmichael and her husband, Brian, also lived in town with their young daughter, Brittany, while Brian was finishing his Ph.D. in Theatre.

Scott ate up the stories almost as voraciously as he downed dinner, and Paul was pleased to see Mary return his attention. When Mary found out they were staying in a hostel, she insisted they spend the night. Paul wasn’t sure, but Scott pleaded and won.

Scott was upstairs taking a shower as Mary and Paul cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“So,” she said obliquely as she rinsed the dishes in the sink, “how did you meet Jenny?”

“...Through Wayne.”

She nodded with a distant smile. “Jenny and Scott were such a good couple. We were all so happy for them.”

“Was Hank happy?”

Her smile faded. “He adored Jenny. That’s what made it so hard. He wouldn’t talk to her again. And he’s so stubborn. Even after all this time, he won’t talk about her.” She looked in silence at the sink, and Paul became uncomfortable.

“So,” he said, trying to lighten the conversation, “when was the last time you saw Jenny?”

Mary’s eyes flashed with an unexpected coolness. “Scott’s a good boy. When did you meet him?”

Paul blinked with surprise. “He’s my son.”

She handed Paul a dish to put in the dishwasher. “My mistake. I had the impression you two hadn’t been together all that long.”

He didn’t know what she meant, but something about this disturbed him.

That night Paul was getting ready for bed as Scott looked around at the decorations and photos in the room.

“She said my room was Scott’s room,” he said as he looked at some books on a shelf. He turned to his father. “Dad, can we stay here for a while? I mean, if they’ll let us. I like it here. I feel kind of close to Mom. ...Can we stay?”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s something strange here I don’t understand. Besides, I need to find a job. We’re down to forty dollars.”

“Please, Dad? ...I’ll even go to school.”

“...Well,” Paul rubbed his chin with deliberate slowness while Scott held his breath. “Maybe I can find some work.”

“All right!” Scott burst out, then quickly hushed himself in the silent house.

Mary was as genial as ever the next day, and she took particular delight in getting Scott to help with baking an extra batch of cookies. Paul observed from a polite distance, not entirely reassured that everything was as it seemed with her. Hank stayed hidden in his workshop.

The thundering Hayden horde showed up at the house right on schedule the next afternoon at five. Wisconsin had upset Iowa, so everyone was in high spirits. Mary introduced Paul and Scott to everyone, and they were instantly adopted into the tribe. In particular, Scott hit it off with Tom Kuehn, who was a senior in high school. Scott was taken with Tom’s letter jacket, which was decorated with pins and badges signifying his three years on the varsity baseball team and one state championship. Tom was pleased by Scott’s interest and gladly showed it off. It wasn’t long before Scott and Tom and Uncle Brian were out in the back yard with the football. Tracy, who was at the dangerous age of fourteen, couldn’t believe her good fortune when she found out Scott was staying with Grandma and Grandpa. Paul talked with Gordon about work opportunities in town, and Gordon surprised him by offering him a job with the painting company. Paul gladly accepted. When Mary found out, she insisted that Paul and Scott stay with them. Hank diligently avoided the two, but his chilliness was lost in the crowd.

After dinner, Hank begged off with an excuse of an upset stomach and disappeared. The adults turned their attention to a game of Scrabble, while Tracy turned her attention to Scott. She had to wait her turn, however, while Mary gave Scott a tour of the family photo gallery in the hallway. Four generations looked down from their moments in time, and Mary had a story to tell with each one. Scott almost gave himself away when they came to Scott and Jenny’s wedding portrait, but he managed, barely, to feign a polite disinterest.

When the tour was over, Tracy saw her chance and trapped Scott into going through the old photo albums with her. She didn’t give him a chance to say no, and he was her captive audience while she went through page after page of old images that meant nothing to him. Seeing his attention flag, she pulled out a newer album. Scott’s eyes popped on the first page. It was an album of snapshots of Scott and Jenny. His reaction pleased Tracy, and it caught Paul’s attention as his Scrabble game concluded.

Paul got up and wandered over to the two, watching Scott’s reactions as Scott tried in vain to show disinterest. She turned the page and there, taped among the photos of goofing around at the cabin, was a lock of blond hair. Scott stared at it, then looked up at his father while Tracy chattered on. Paul looked at it, then smiled slightly at Scott. This was too much for Scott, who looked back down at the hair with amazement. Tracy didn’t notice and continued her commentary on the family, and Paul smiled.

Suddenly, Paul stiffened and turned around. Mary was watching him watch them, and, when he faced her, she gave him a sweet smile and turned to the others to see if anyone wanted more cookies.

Hank came out in search of coffee not too long thereafter, and when he saw Scott and Tracy looking at that photo album, he flew into a rage. Tracy quickly hid the album, but it was too late. The conviviality of the evening had died a swift and ugly death. The Kuehns and Fitzmichaels left, and Paul and Scott retired while Mary and Hank fumed wordlessly at each other in the kitchen.

The next day after church, Tom came back to his grandparents’ house to go boating with Scott. Tom tried to cajole Hank into letting him use the inboard motor boat in the boathouse, but Hank wouldn’t be cajoled and Tom and Scott had to settle for the canoe.

Paul stood on the pier, watching the boys make their way further out onto the lake. Mary appeared silently beside him, watching the boys.

“It’s hard to tell them apart from this distance,” she said.

Paul had noticed that, too. Only Tom’s letter jacket gave him away from a distance. “Scott’s in front.”

She smiled, mistaking his accuracy for concern. “Don’t worry, they’ll be safe,” she said. “Tom will have Scott an expert in no time.”

“I’m not worried,” he said. “You have a nice family, Mrs. Hayden. Scott is lucky to have Tom as a friend.”

“Please, call me Mary. And I’d say you’ve done a very good job with Scott. He’s polite, he picks up after himself. He’s very mature for someone so young.”

He looked at her to detect any subtext in her comment, but she was only gazing at the boys with a smile.

The week began quietly, with Paul going with Scott to school to help him enroll. What few transcripts Scott had were in his real name, so he didn’t take them. But the school officials were willing to accept him as a freshman on a temporary basis.

However, problems soon developed when Scott was put into Tracy’s care at the school and he was enrolled in almost all of her classes. She had him just where she wanted him, and he was totally defenseless. She paraded him around the school and showed him off to every single one of her friends, and when once he accidentally introduced himself as Scott Hayden, she couldn’t have been happier. He couldn’t have been more miserable.

Paul joined Gordon and the painting crew the first afternoon as they put the finishing touches on a house. He quickly picked up the basics of the work. Gordon was easygoing and likable, and lunch breaks were always filled with his stories.

“Mary’s a real peach,” Gordon effused as they opened their sack lunches on Tuesday. Paul had just pulled a peach out of his lunch bag, and he regarded the peach and Gordon seriously. “I adore her. Ellen and I didn’t have any money when we got married, and Mary insisted we live with them. Not too many mothers-in-law would do that. I’m as much their son as Scott was.”

Paul nodded, then ate in thought for a moment. “It must have been hard on the entire family when Scott died and Jenny....” His casual tone masked his intense wait for a response.

Gordon nodded. “That was a tough time. Jenny needed a lot of TLC, but Hank really dug into her.”

Paul kept his casual air. “And after, too....”

“Oh, _that_.” Gordon rolled his eyes. “Everybody suddenly went crazy. I mean, what was the big deal? Jenny’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants. Single women have babies all the time. But then she and the kid vanish, and this wolverine from Washington shows up hot on her trail.” He shook his head. “It was like being in a bad science fiction movie.”

Paul blinked in astonishment. “...Wolverine?”

“Oh, you know, kind of like a badger. They get their teeth into their prey and they lock their jaws shut. You can’t shake ‘em loose.” Paul pondered this quizzically while Gordon poured another cup of coffee from the thermos, then chuckled. “Well, that’s what he seemed like to me. It’s funny, after all this time the exact same guy came back asking the exact same questions.”

Paul reacted with muted alarm. “When?”

“In the fall, two years ago.”

Paul relaxed a little. “What happened?”

Gordon shook his head. “He didn’t stick around long. We weren’t much help. Nobody’s seen Jenny for sixteen years. The trail’s pretty cold around here.” Paul looked away with relief and went back to his meal.

One of the painters walked past the scaffolding in front of the house, brushing his sleeve against a corner. The material ripped loudly. Gordon jumped up with alarm. “Eddie, you okay?”

“Yeah,” the man said, ruefully examining the giant tear in his sleeve. “It only got the shirt.”

Gordon sat down, still agitated. “Be careful.” He looked at Paul. “Be careful with those corner areas. It’s a new scaffold, and for some reason it’s got really sharp edges on some of the corners. I haven’t had the time to file them down yet. Don’t tell Hank. He’s a real stickler for taking care of things right away.”

Paul nodded, then eased in again. “Why does Hank dislike Jenny so much? The car accident wasn’t her fault, was it?”

Gordon looked at Paul seriously. “Of course not. But that didn’t stop him from blaming her. He was like a madman when Scott died. He wouldn’t even let Jenny in the house after the funeral. It was Hank’s car, you know. I don’t know what happened. Hank and Scott were really close. The whole thing with Hank and Jenny tore the family apart in a lot of ways. Even after all this time, it still comes up and, well, look what happened Saturday. ...I don’t know if that wound will ever heal.”

They ate in silence.

“Dad, we have to get out of here.”

Paul looked up with alarm as Scott burst into his room. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Tracy,” he exclaimed. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

Paul sat down with relief. “What’s wrong with Tracy?”

“Everything. I mean, she’s a maniac. She’s been drooling all over me since we got here.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing.”

“Dad, she is such a kid! I mean, she even followed me into the bathroom today! Besides, isn’t she my cousin or something? We have to move right now. Let’s go back to Utah. Or better yet, Hawaii. Japan. As far away as we can get.”

“What about Tom and Mary?” Paul asked evenly.

Scott sat on the bed and calmed himself. “Okay, but can you talk to Tracy’s dad or something? Get her to back off.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he groaned, then relaxed. “Oh, Mr. Peterson, my chemistry teacher, wants to meet you.”

“Why?”

“He’s the photography adviser for the newspaper. He’s a big Paul Forrester fan.”

“Not another one.” Paul sighed. “Sometimes I wish it had been someone else.”

Scott smirked. “Too bad you couldn’t do Scott Hayden again. We’d be set for life!” He laughed and flopped back comfortably on the bed. Paul frowned.

The next day, Paul mentioned Scott’s dilemma to Gordon, who laughed and said he would do what he could, which, given that he was only Tracy’s father, wouldn’t be much.

There wasn’t a lot happening for the paint crew that day, so Gordon gave Paul the afternoon off. Paul went to Scott’s high school to pay a call on his chemistry teacher, but the chemistry lab was locked. When he went to the newspaper office, the only one there was a student typing up a story. She didn’t know when Mr. Peterson was coming back, but when he asked her to tell him that Paul Forrester had stopped by, her eyes lit up. “ _The_ Paul Forrester? The _Eye of the Storm_ Paul Forrester?” She jumped up from her work. “Gosh! Mr. Peterson has done nothing but talk about you since he found out you were in town. He’s going to kick himself when he finds out he missed you.”

She turned to a cluttered shelf above the desk and pulled out a copy of _In the Eye of the Storm_. She scared up a pen from somewhere and held the book and pen out to him. “Will you autograph his book for him? I know he’d just love that.” Before Paul could answer, she’d opened the book to the title page and thrust the pen at him. He dutifully signed it. “Thanks, Mr. Forrester. Gosh!” As she admired his signature, he excused himself and left.

Dan Peterson came in twenty minutes later, and the girl explained in breathless tones about Paul Forrester coming in and autographing his book. She showed it to him with pride in a job well done.

Peterson laughed. “He already signed it. I met him a couple years ago at a convention in Chicago.” He took the book from her and turned to the back. “He’s quite a character. He said the publishers made such a mess of the book that he’d only sign it in the back.” He showed her Paul Forrester’s flashy signature, which was dashed off under his picture on the back inside flap of the jacket, but he frowned when he saw it. He turned back to the new signature on the title page and looked at it, then looked at the one under the photo. He frowned again, and then slipped the jacket off and compared the two side by side. They were absolutely unalike. “What did this guy look like?”

She looked at the picture. Forrester sported a natty beard in the photo and sat draped with casual confidence on an ancient wall of an old city. “I think it was him.”

“You sure?”

She blinked. There was something so different about the man in the photo and the man she met. “I guess. He didn’t have a beard. I don’t know.”

“Did you see what kind of camera he had? Was it a—”

“—He wasn’t carrying a camera.”

He was astonished. “He didn’t have a camera bag?”

“No.”

He thought a moment. “Did he make a big deal about the switched cutlines on page 42?”

“No. He didn’t say anything about the book.”

Dan stewed a moment. “Was he kind of upbeat and arrogant?”

“No,” she said, beginning to pick up his concern. “He was very quiet.”

“He didn’t ask you how old you were and what you were doing after school?”

She frowned petulantly at him. “Mr. Peterson!”

Peterson thought about this, and the more he did, the less he liked it. He went to his desk, and after searching through his card file, he called a friend at the American Society of News Photographers to ask if there had been reports of an impostor passing himself off as Paul Forrester.

Dinner was ready, and Mary sent Paul out to find Scott. Paul went out into the back yard and he saw Scott sitting on the pier. But he stopped when he saw what Scott was doing. Scott, sphere in hand, was facing away from the house with a large stone in front of him. He gazed intently at the sphere, and it developed a feeble glow. He stared at the rock. Nothing happened. “Come on,” he muttered. Nothing. “Just an inch.” Nothing. “Move. Something!” The rock refused. The sphere sputtered out. After a moment of anguish, Scott snatched up the rock and hurled it into the lake. He scrambled to his feet and turned, stopping abruptly when he saw his father. He looked at Paul for a moment, then walked around him in a dark silence and went into the house.

Life went on quietly for the rest of the week. Hank had settled into a routine of avoiding Paul and Scott when he could and ignoring them when he couldn’t. He usually spent dinners with his eyes glued to the plate, asking for seconds with a unique combination of grunts and hand gestures.

During Thursday dinner, however, something unexpected happened. Scott was energetically telling Mary about how he caught the winning touchdown pass in his gym class football game when Paul noticed that Hank was smiling at Scott. He was caught up in the excitement of the story, lost in Scott’s description of his dash down the sideline. But when Hank realized Paul was looking at him, he cleared his throat with loud displeasure and left the table.

Scott, in the meantime, was finding ways to avoid Tracy. He had a strong ally in Tom, who was sympathetic to his plight and knew all the ways to get around his sister. Tom was as easygoing and likable as his dad, and he loved to hear Scott’s stories about all the places he’d been. Tom hadn’t traveled much, and he was fascinated by the adventures of this kid who seemed to have been everywhere and done everything. The two became close friends in a short time, and Tom once laughed that Scott looked enough like him “to be his cousin.” Scott said nothing. Tom came over after school every day, and they would elude the pursuing Tracy by going out on the lake in the canoe. Tracy tried waiting for them on shore, but she knew her brother’s stubbornness and she eventually gave up on them.

Tom had also inherited his father’s gift for talking, and he gave Scott a tour through history as he taught him the ins and outs of the lake. Scott was eager to learn, and he was at home in the canoe in no time.

Friday was an in-service day at school, so the two started early and spent all day on the lake. Mary had packed them lunch, and Tom showed Scott all of his favorite spots. There was the rocky shoreline near his grandparents’ house that was the best spot for catching perch; the Tent Colony, a part of the woods along the lake where he and his friends used to look for arrowheads when they were kids; and they even paddled all the way into town to indulge in mid-morning ice cream cones at the university’s Memorial Union.

But Tom’s most sacred hideaway was reserved for lunch. Near the Tent Colony was Black Hawk’s Cave, where, according to legend, the great Sauk chief had hidden from the American troops during the Black Hawk Indian war. It was hidden on the shoreline by the woods around it, and it could only be reached by the water. The area had been one of Tom’s favorite hideouts since he was a child.

They savored their weekday freedom as they ate lunch in the quiet woods above the cave. They talked about their teachers, girls at school, Tom’s escapades on the baseball team, the Homecoming football game next weekend. Tom even promised to fix Scott up with someone “totally acceptable” for the Homecoming dance. In return, Scott dazzled Tom with more stories of all the exotic places he’d been, of peregrines, experimental aircraft, con artists, and a Cadillac named Barbara. Tom marveled, envying Scott’s life of total freedom.

But Scott knew he was wrong. No, the road was not freedom. Four schools in two months was not freedom. Always looking over his shoulder was not freedom. As he lay there on the carpet of sweet, musty fallen leaves, gazing up at the canopy of flashing gold and brilliant blue in this town of his birth, this town he had never known, Scott knew that this was freedom. It was as if he had never been anywhere else. Time stood still. There was no Tracy, there was no homework, there was no George Fox. There was just this moment stretching out into forever. He was truly at peace.

Gordon and the painters started another house that Friday, but the work bogged down quickly. Eddie was out with the flu, and the other painter was coming down with it so Gordon sent him home.

Saturday was more of the same. Gordon was supposed to help Hank and Tom tune up Hank’s inboard motor boat before it was put away for the winter, but he couldn’t leave the job with most of his crew out sick. So, he left the tune-up to Tom and Scott and asked Hank to come in and help on the job. Even though the old man swore up and down he wouldn’t go near the place if Paul was there, Gordon got him with “do it for the sake of the family business,” and Hank couldn’t say no. He avoided Paul, sticking to his own work and even pointedly taking out his hearing aid.

The new scaffolding was set up in front of the house, and Gordon was giving Paul instructions by the truck out at the curb when Hank discovered one of the sharp corners on the scaffolding. He muttered to himself about it and put his cap on the ground as a marker. His tool kit was in back of the house, so he went around back to get a file.

“We’ll take the shutters off first and set them up by the garage,” Gordon said to Paul as they left the truck and walked to the front of the house. “You know, Paul, having you here has really saved my life. Dad and I couldn’t do this without you.” Paul smiled gratefully.

They were approaching the scaffolding when Gordon spotted Hank’s cap on the ground and chuckled. “Looks like he lost his hat,” he said and reached down to pick it up. He misjudged his distance from the scaffolding, and his head hit the frame square on the sharp corner. He dropped like lead, blood showering from the side of his head.

Paul reacted with horror as he turned the fallen Gordon over onto his back. His face was ashen, and blood was streaming out onto the grass. He shouted for help, but there was no answer. Paul knew that Gordon’s life hung on the moment. He looked around. No one could see him. He pulled out his sphere.

Hank rounded the corner from the back of the house, holding his file and still muttering about shoddy modern workmanship, when he stopped dead in his tracks. Gordon was crumpled on the ground by the scaffolding, and Paul was kneeling over him, holding something. They were both bathed in an eerie blue light. Hank stared, frozen and dumbfounded. The blue light faded, and he watched as Paul put something in his pocket. Gordon was still motionless on the ground, and now Hank could see that Gordon’s head was covered with blood. He fumbled for his hearing aid and put it in his ear.

Paul jumped up and ran to the truck. He grabbed the car phone and dialed quickly. He recoiled with surprise when he saw Hank looking at him, but the operator came on the line and he asked for an ambulance. After he gave the address, he hung up, and he and Hank stared at each other for a moment. “He cut his head on the scaffolding,” Paul said mutedly. “I called the ambulance.” He watched as Hank approached Gordon and looked down at him. There was fresh blood everywhere, but the gash on his temple was cleanly sealed. Hank’s mouth fell open, and he stared at Paul again. Paul did not respond.

Dan Peterson grumbled as he answered the knock on his front door. What kind of idiot would interrupt the live broadcast of the Wisconsin-Michigan game? He opened the door. Waiting for him was an intense little man with a strange glint in his eyes. “Dan Peterson?”

“Yeah?”

The man smiled, or rather flashed his teeth, and held up an official-looking badge at him. “I’d like to talk with you about a phone call you made to the photographers society.”

When the ambulance arrived for Gordon, Hank rode with Gordon to the hospital while Paul followed in the truck. Paul called Mary on the way, and Mary and Ellen were already at the hospital by the time he arrived. Mary hadn’t brought the boys because they were out on the lake in the motor boat and couldn’t be called in.

The four spent an anxious half hour in the emergency room waiting area. Paul sat with Mary and Ellen while Hank sat across the room, watching Paul and brooding. They stood up nervously as the resident on duty came out to greet them: “He’s lost a lot of blood, but I think he’s going to be all right.” The women relaxed with relief.

The resident turned to Paul and shook his hand. “I don’t know how you did it, but it’s a miracle,” he effused with the unmistakable tone of awe in his voice, to Paul’s discomfort. “I saw it with my own eyes, and I still can’t believe it. The artery was almost completely severed, but you closed it and the surface wound. Even if I’d been there, I don’t think I could’ve saved him.” Ellen looked at Paul gratefully, while Hank was the picture of stony silence. Mary looked at Paul with an intense, unfathomable gaze, but she said nothing. Paul only shrugged uncomfortably.

When Tom and Scott cruised past the house in the inboard and saw that no one was home keeping an eye on them, they saw their chance for some fun and took off. The boat was old but still quite fast, and they enjoyed themselves—most of the time within the limits of common sense—while their elders were away. Tom had taught Scott the sedate basics of running the inboard while they thought they were being supervised, but now Tom let Scott try her out on full throttle. It was a chilly day and the lake was mostly deserted, and Scott blasted back and forth to his heart’s content. They burned up most of the gas before they finally decided they’d had enough of a good thing and headed for home.

Tom took the wheel for the quiet trip back, and Scott sat like an admiral in back, totally blissed out. When they were in sight of the house, Tom looked over to shore and reacted with surprise. “What’s going on?”

Scott pulled out of his reverie and joined Tom forward. Several nondescript cars were parked by the Haydens’ house and about six men in suits were searching the area. It was hard to see faces clearly at this distance, but Scott could see a short, agitated man orchestrating the search. Scott didn’t need to see his face.

He slipped out of sight abruptly, sitting down on the boat’s floor. He was fuming. “How did he find us? I don’t get it! How did he find us?”

Tom looked down at Scott, baffled. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?” He looked back at the house as the men continued their scouting around. Then one of the men looked up and saw Tom slowly approaching in the boat.

“Look!” His voice carried out over the water. “Mr. Fox!”

Tom watched as the men turned and looked at him. The leader squinted at him for a moment, then was beside himself.

“There he is! Somebody get a boat! Get him!”

The men swung into action on shore, but Tom only watched, baffled. “Wait a minute, I know that guy. I’ve seen him before.”

“Tom! Go!” Scott shouted from his hidden position. “We have to get out of here!”

Tom still hadn’t caught on. He was gazing at the men on shore, wondering what on earth they were doing. The man who was in charge was staring at him eagerly, and then the memory clicked. “Him. He’s the guy who came here a couple years ago and asked us a bunch of questions about Aunt Jenny.”

Scott was going crazy. “Tom! Go! We have to go! _Now!_ ”

Tom looked down at his friend, who had suddenly turned into a stranger. “What does he want with you?”

“I can’t tell you now! Just get out of here!”

Tom looked back up at the men on shore, and a man stepped up next to the man in charge and aimed a gun at the boat. Tom recoiled, and the man in charge grabbed the other man’s arm. “No! I told you I want the boy alive!”

Tom finally got the message. He opened the throttle and swung the boat around, leaving the bay at a dead run.

The boat roared along the wooded shoreline, and when the house was out of sight Scott got up from his hiding place and scanned the shoreline for pursuers. Neither of them spoke, but Scott felt the chilly wall of suspicion between them. Tom directed the boat into a secluded inlet, then cut the engine, letting the boat drift. He turned to Scott firmly. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

“Then what does that man want with you? He’s a cop from the government or something, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, or something.” Scott looked at Tom for a long moment. He’d been wanting to do this all along, but now it was harder than he thought it would be. “Do you remember your Aunt Jenny at all?”

“Not really. Look, Scott, if you’re mixed up with something—”

“—She’s my mom.”

Tom stared at him.

“Jenny Hayden. My name isn’t Scott Forrester. It’s Scott Hayden.”

Tom was still staring at him.

“I wanted to tell you. I really did. But I couldn’t, because....” He stopped, his feeble words failing him.

Tom scrutinized him. He said nothing for a long moment, and Scott shifted uncomfortably. Then Tom laughed to himself. “Wow.” He laughed again with a wondering smile, then he pulled the surprised Scott into a bear hug. “When this is over, you gotta tell me everything!” He started the boat up again and sent her flying across the water.

A terrible sight greeted them as they left the inlet. A sleek speedboat with three men in suits was heading straight for them. A moment of hesitation would trap them in the inlet. Tom gunned the old boat away just as the speedboat was moving to cut them off, and they slid past their pursuers by not more than the length of the boat. The speedboat chopped through the old inboard’s wake and had to make a wide turn to avoid the rocky shoreline, giving the boys precious seconds.

But even a head start couldn’t make up for the other boat’s speed, and soon they were back on them and gaining fast. Scott’s skin crawled when he saw one of the three men point at him and pick up a bullhorn.

“Scott Hayden!” the metallic, booming voice assaulted them. “Scott Hayden! Cut your engine immediately!” Without a word, Tom replied by pulling a swift turn away. But the other boat had them on both speed and agility, and soon they were back on track and even closer. “Cut your engine!” Again, Tom answered with a turn, and again they beat him on it.

The speedboat was only fifteen feet away when both boys saw one of the men pull out a long boat hook and hold it up at the ready. “Do something!” Scott shouted.

“You do something!” Tom blasted back and tried another useless turn.

Frantic, Scott looked around for something that might help them. But there was nothing, and he could only watch helplessly as the speedboat inched ever closer. The man lowered the hook at him, waiting for his moment. Tom tried another turn, but it couldn’t put off the inevitable and soon the hook was within reach. The man jabbed down hard, trying to latch onto the boat’s side wall, but Tom zigged out of the way at the last moment and the hook missed. Scott couldn’t breathe as the man readied the hook again and slashed it down at the boat. Tom tried to zig out of reach as the hook fell, but the boat was close enough that even that twist wasn’t enough. The hook hit the top of the side wall, but it wasn’t far enough in to catch the wall’s inside edge and it squealed across the top molding before it slipped off. Swiftly the man swung the hook back up with a jabbing motion and with a gut-wrenching slam it latched onto the inboard’s side wall.

Without thinking what he was doing, Scott pulled out his sphere. After a moment to connect with it, he clutched it tightly and stared at the speedboat.

The speedboat stopped. It did not sputter, it did not wind down. It simply stopped dead in the water. The boys stared open-mouthed as the boat dug in impossibly and the inboard shot ahead out of reach. The astonished men slammed forward onto the dash. The boat hook jerked free and flopped onto the inboard’s deck at Scott’s feet. The speedboat bobbed in the inboard’s wake as the men scrambled back and lunged at the now-useless controls.

After a last look to make sure he was seeing this clearly, Scott looked at Tom, who gaped at him. Tom looked at the sphere as it ceased its glow, then looked at Scott again. He looked at the immobile speedboat, then back at Scott, then the sphere.

“...What is that thing?”

Scott looked at him seriously. “It’s a long story.”

Tom slowed the boat by Black Hawk’s Cave and Scott, who was now wearing Tom’s letter jacket, jumped out into the chilly, thigh-deep water. Scott made his way to the cave entrance, and Tom tossed him the boat’s flashlight. With parting waves, Tom roared away and Scott disappeared inside the cave.

The cave was cold and dank and not as large as Scott had imagined it. He found a place to sit on a slimy boulder above the waterline and tried to shake some of the water out of his shoes. He pulled out his sphere.

Paul was sitting in Mary’s car with Ellen and Mary on the way back from the hospital. Hank was in the truck behind them. Paul sat stiffly in the front passenger seat, all too aware of the thundering silence that filled the car. Ellen was resting in back, but Mary was wrapped in a cloud of intensity. Paul couldn’t tell if it was fear, anger or excitement, and that bothered him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Mary jumped. They didn’t quite look at each other in acknowledgement, and neither said a word.

They were stopped at a red light when Paul’s sphere began to hum in his pocket. He reacted with surprise and put his hand over it, but the sound carried throughout the car. Both women looked around, then at Paul.

“What’s that noise?” Ellen said.

He looked at them innocently, wondering what he was going to say. “...My batteries—in my key chain—are running low.” He looked out the window and spotted a drug store. “I’ll just get out here and get some. I’ll see you at the house later.”

Mary tried to stop him, but he was out of the car in a flash. With a last wave to the women, he turned and walked to the store.

He went into the store’s restroom and, after making sure all of the stalls were empty, he pulled out his sphere. He connected with it, and he saw the image that Scott had sent—Fox was at the Haydens’ house. He thought Scott was still free, but he couldn’t see where he was. All he could see was water. He pocketed his sphere and walked out of the restroom. He recoiled with surprise. Hank was standing in front of him, blocking his way.

“Who are you?” Hank asked angrily.

“Please, Mr. Hayden, I—”

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Scott’s in danger. I must find him.”

Paul tried to go around, but Hank blocked him. “Not until you tell me who you are and who that boy is.”

Paul had no choice. “He’s Jenny’s son.”

Hank blinked and stood speechless for a moment. “Who are you?”

“I’m his father.”

Hank didn’t know what to do. He backed off a step unsteadily, then looked around in confusion. Paul waited for his chance to leave, but then Hank did something totally unexpected. “Come on. The truck’s out front.” He turned and walked to the front door. After a moment of surprise, Paul hurried after him.

On Paul’s instructions, Hank made a beeline for the lake. They were downtown, and the only access to the water was at the university’s boat landing and pier next to the Memorial Union. As they pulled up, a crowd was gathering by the pier and there were a few police cars hastily arranged in the parking lot. Through the crowd, they could a heavy police powerboat towing a sleek speedboat and Hank’s inboard toward the pier. Someone who looked like Scott was standing between several men in uniform on board the cruiser. Hank parked out of view on the street and got out as the police boat docked.

George Fox was waiting on the pier for the cruiser, and the three men from the speedboat handed Tom over to him before they got off and tied up the speedboat. Fox grabbed Tom by the sleeve. “Where is he?”

“Who?” he said innocently.

“Scott Hayden!” Fox shouted with exasperation.

“Who?”

Fox sputtered. “The one who did that!” He pointed at the hobbled speedboat as the three men tied it up. One got onboard to give the controls a last baffled onceover.

“Oh, Forrester.” Tom shrugged. “He’s probably out there treading water somewhere.”

Fox’s eyes were as sharp as razors. “What?”

“I didn’t want someone like that on my boat. I left him out there.”

“You _what?_ ” Fox was beside himself.

Without warning, the speedboat’s powerful engine roared to life. Fox jumped and glared at the man at the boat’s controls, who could only offer a sheepish shrug. Tom cracked a smile, but it was gone when the livid Fox turned back at him. Fox collared Tom and with a frustrated tug pulled him down the pier towards the parking lot.

Fox led Tom through the parted crowd in the parking lot towards a waiting sedan.

Suddenly, someone stood in his way. “Are you a policeman?”

Fox looked up at Hank with a glint of recognition. “Do I know you?”

“I want to know what this boy was doing in that boat.”

Fox looked at Tom. For a moment he thought he had recognized Hank, but now he wasn’t sure. He turned to Hank. “Do you know him?”

Hank looked at Tom. “What were you doing? Hot rodding around the lake?”

Tom saw what was going on and shrugged defiantly. “Just cruising around looking for arrowheads. They wouldn’t have caught me if I hadn’t run out of gas.”

Hank turned to Fox and punctuated his comments with a few sharp pokes on Fox’s chest. “These kids today. Don’t know nothing. It’s a good thing people like you are around.” He turned and walked away.

Fox had no idea what had just happened, and he rubbed his dented flesh as he turned Tom over to the policemen and looked again for Hank, who had vanished in the crowd.

Hank got into the truck and started it quickly.

“Was it Scott?” Paul asked anxiously as Hank pulled out into traffic.

“No, it’s Tom. I think I know where Scott is.”

Hank drove in silence, and Paul could sense that there was something roaring through the old man’s mind. Again he couldn’t figure it out, and again it bothered him. But he didn’t ask.

Hank told Paul about the Tent Colony and the nearby cave as they drove along the winding lakeside road, and it wasn’t long before Paul noticed in the truck’s side mirror that there was a nondescript car full of men in suits following them at a discreet distance. They were approaching the spot where the road turned away from the lake. Paul took Gordon’s jacket from the truck’s back window ledge and tucked it under his arm. As they rounded a curve, Hank slowed the truck and Paul jumped out. He hid in the bushes as the car full of men passed him, and then he took off into the woods.

Scott was getting cold. His clothes weren’t drying in the damp cave, and a chill was creeping up his legs. He pulled the letter jacket around him tightly, but it couldn’t keep out the damp. A police boat had passed by twice, but they hadn’t seen him. Sunset was approaching, and from his vantage point he could see the woods on the opposite shore basking in the last golden light. Clouds were moving in from the north, so there would be no moon or stars to dispel the gloom of night. The wind was picking up as well, and it blew straight into the mouth of the cave. He shivered in the dank air. He had no idea if his father had gotten his message, if Tom was all right...and if anyone knew where he was. His stomach was beginning to complain, too. He saw something dark swim lazily into the cave, but when he turned the flashlight on it, it vanished out the way it had come. That was okay. He wasn’t that hungry. Yet. Had it only been yesterday afternoon that he and Tom had lounged over lunch not thirty feet from this spot? It seemed like another lifetime. He curled up a little tighter and tried to conserve his body heat.

Paul made his way through the unfamiliar woods as the shadows vanished in the dusk. Twice he saw hikers, and both times he hid as they passed. He continued on beyond the footpaths and wondered if he was lost. He couldn’t see anyone around, but he had the unmistakable sense that he was not alone. He kept up his quick pace as much as the underbrush would allow.

He reached the edge of the lake, but there was no sign of a cave. He was about twenty feet above the water, and there was no trail anywhere to give him a hint. He pulled out his sphere.

“This is Fox, over.”

The police radio crackled on. “We’re in position. They can’t get out on this side. Over.”

Fox smiled and looked at his men who were gathered at the beginning of the footpath. He clicked on the radio microphone. “Excellent. Start your search. Fox out.” He replaced the microphone and turned to the others. “We’ve got them. Let’s go.” They headed into the darkening woods.

When Scott’s sphere began to glow, he almost shouted for joy. He slipped off the rock into the water and waded out to the mouth of the cave. Twilight was upon the waters, and, when he looked up at the woods, he couldn’t see a thing. He began to crawl up the rocks quietly, mentally crossing his fingers that he wasn’t making a horrendous mistake. His shoes were wet and his feet were colder than ever, and nothing was working as it should as he tried to find footholds. Twice he lost his footing, and once he nearly fell, sending the flashlight down into the dark waters below.

He was halfway up the steep incline when he heard hurried footfalls above him. He froze and breathlessly listened until they were gone. The bleak safety of the cave was beginning to appeal to him again, and he was contemplating going back when he heard a quieter footfall and a familiar whisper. “Scott?” He looked up at Paul and let out an anxious breath. He climbed up the treacherous rocks as best he could, and soon Paul had a grip on his shoulder and pulled him up. A quick silent hug had to suffice, and Paul put Gordon’s jacket around him.

“Do you know how to get out of here?” Paul whispered.

“No. We came in by water.”

Paul looked around at the indigo shades of the woods and frowned. “Can we swim out?”

“No, Dad, it’s too cold. We’d never make it.”

Paul didn’t know what to do. He started feeling his way through the woods, keeping the black waters to his right, and Scott kept with him.

“Dad,” Scott whispered, “I had to tell Tom who I was.”

“How much?”

“Everythi—”

They froze when they saw the dim light in the distance moving towards them out of the woods on their left. They watched it silently, and then another one joined it, and then a third appeared. They quickened their pace as best they could, but their adrenalin was now working against them and taking the sureness out of their steps.

Running footfalls came up behind them, and their hearts pounded as they didn’t know whether to plunge into the water or turn and fight. Suddenly hands fell upon Scott. He reached back to take a swing when a voice he had heard before whispered in his ear, “There’s a canoe by the birch trees, about fifty yards ahead. Across the lake to the left is a green light. Paddle towards it. Go!” Before the two could realize who the phantoms were, they were gone into the woods again.

Fox was leading his search party, and he could see the lights of the other group approaching on his left. He had them! There was no way they could get out this time! He heard rushing steps ahead of him in the pitch-black night. He shined his light ahead, and he could see two shadowy forms making their way towards the water.

“There! There! Get them!” The two parties rushed towards the retreating forms, and within moments they had converged on the two. Fox lunged at the near figure, but when one of the men turned his flashlight on the person, to his shock it was a woman.

Sara Fitzmichael burst into a joyous smile and hugged him. “Oh, thank goodness! Thank goodness! You found us! I thought we were going to be stuck out here all night!” Fox managed to scrape her off, and she turned to her husband with a frown. She walloped him on the arm. “You! You said, ‘We’ve got plenty of time before dark. Quit worrying!’”

Brian looked at her indignantly. “Me? Who was the one who kept stopping every five minutes because she was tired? Huh? Huh?”

Fox was beside himself and stumbled away from their bickering. “Keep looking! They’re around here somewhere! Go!”

Paul and Scott kept moving through the dark woods, and soon they spotted the eerie white bark of the birch trees ahead of them leaning out over the lake. A canoe patiently waited, pulled halfway up onto the grass and rocks. Paul and Scott pushed it away from shore, and soon they were in the canoe and out onto the rippling waters. A welcome green light about two miles away twinkled off to the left as promised, and they made for it as quickly and quietly as they could.

Mary Hayden sat knitting in her living room as Fox paced above her. A tired and overwhelmed Ellen sat nearby, and two of the “suits” milled around near the kitchen. Mary’s earlier agitation was gone, and she now was the picture of calm. A man came in from outside. Fox turned to him hopefully. “Well?”

He shrugged his apology. “No sign of any of them, sir.”

Fox frowned and turned back to look at Mary as she continued her handiwork.

“Ellen,” Mary said sweetly, “why don’t you make these gentlemen some coffee? Heaven only knows when Hank will be back to help them out.” Ellen got up and politely eased her way past the suits and into the kitchen and started coffee.

Fox laughed. “You amaze me, Mrs. Hayden. You truly amaze me. You could teach advanced seminars at the FSA. Your family is more organized than the French Resistance.”

“Why, Mr. Fox,” she said with a smile as she glanced up at him, “if we’re the French Resistance, what does that make you?”

He laughed humorlessly.

The green light on shore was next to a camper by a boat landing and pier. The Hayden Painting Company truck sat in the shadows nearby while Hank and Tracy sat on the back bumper of the camper, waiting and looking out at the black lake. When they caught sight of the approaching canoe, they swung into action. Tracy turned off the light while Hank went out onto the pier to meet the canoe. Paul and Scott were tired and cold and needed every bit of Hank’s help to pull the canoe in. As they stepped onto shore, Tracy handed a hand-drawn map to Paul and a basket of food to Scott.

Hank said, “This is a map to Mary’s cousin’s farm out in Ridgeway. They’re expecting you. Stay there until we call.”

Paul looked at the old man with appreciation and smiled. “Thank you.”

Hank shook his head uncomfortably. “Just go.”

Tracy looked at Scott forlornly as he wolfed down a bite from one of the sandwiches. “So, you’re my cousin, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” She looked defeated and embarrassed, but said nothing else. There was nothing to say. Paul and Scott got into the camper, and Hank closed Paul’s door, leaning on the window ledge.

“Take good care of this,” Hank said, affecting brusqueness as he patted the camper door, “or Gordon’ll be after you.”

Paul smiled again, and he gratefully patted Hank’s arm on the door. Paul’s smile faded as he looked at Hank in wonderment, and Hank realized that something was going on that he didn’t want to go on. He pulled his arm away, and Paul regarded him calmly. “Thank you, Hank. And thank everyone for us.”

They drove away into the night, and Hank and Tracy watched them for a moment. Hank turned to Tracy. “Now, young lady, don’t you ever tell your mother I let you drive the camper, or I’ll skin you alive!”

She smiled impishly and walked over to where the company truck waited.

At the police station, Tom repeated the truth to the local police and the FSA “suits”—Scott had jumped out of the boat and he didn’t know where Scott was now. Two hours of the same questions revealed nothing new, and the police conferred briefly on possible charges they could bring against him. Resisting arrest was about all they had, but the extenuating circumstances—Tom was a minor, the FSA men threatened him with a gun, and the FSA agents didn’t identify themselves—weakened their case. In addition, the police had not been favorably impressed by Fox’s highhandedness, and they weren’t inclined to cooperate if they didn’t have to. Despite Fox’s furious objections, the police called Ellen and released Tom into her custody that night.

Ellen and Tom arrived at the Haydens’ house about the same time Hank and Tracy showed up. Fox raged and fumed at the family, but he had absolutely no proof of what he knew all too well, that the family had helped Paul and Scott escape. He couldn’t even prove that they knew their two house guests were more than just a photographer and his son who were passing through. There was nothing he could do.

Fox kept the family under surveillance for a week, and he was prepared to stay as long as it took. But on Day Eight his budget ran out. He managed to hold his group together for another two days, but then General Wade ordered him to disperse his team. Wade concluded that the two were long gone and any future surveillance was the responsibility of the local authorities. Wade ordered the complaining Fox to investigate the report of something suspicious in Denver.

Before he left, Fox scorched Mary and Hank’s ears with a blood-and-thunder lecture, but he knew he had lost. All he had to show for his efforts was what he had confiscated at the Haydens’ house—Paul and Scott’s clothes and personal effects and Paul’s camera equipment.

Another week went by before Mary called Paul and Scott back to Madison from her cousin’s farm. The timing was perfect, because Scott was just getting over his head cold souvenir of his day in Black Hawk’s Cave. The police had decided not to press charges against Tom, Gordon had come home from the hospital, and everyone was ready to celebrate.

As the entire family gathered for dinner at Hank and Mary’s, Paul and Scott finally learned the whole story of the conspiracy—how Mary kept the “suits” at their house by pretending to cooperate, while all along keeping them so busy they couldn’t go look for the others; how Tom had called Sara and Brian from the pay phone in the police station and surreptitiously told them where to meet Paul and Scott in the woods; how, after Paul jumped out of the truck, Hank had ditched his tail in the winding back roads near the lake and picked up Tracy at her friend’s house before Fox could track her down; and how Tracy and Hank got the paint company truck to the boat landing by covering the easy-to-spot Hayden Painting Company markings with cardboard, twine, and lots of glue.

“Mr. Fox is going to find a couple surprises waiting for him when he gets back to Washington,” Mary said with a quiet smile. “I called an old colleague yesterday. He still owes me a couple favors. I asked him to build a fire under Fox.” Paul reacted with alarm but said nothing. “Don’t fry him, I said, just baste him for a while.”

Paul regarded her seriously. “Your friend’s a chef?”

Mary laughed as the others chuckled. “He’s cooked up a few stews in his time.”

Ellen patted her mother’s hand with pride. “Mom was in the OSS during World War II.”

“What’s the OSS?” Paul asked.

“Army Intelligence,” Gordon answered.

“Oh,” Paul said. “What’s World War II?”

The others laughed again, and Scott leaned over and said quietly, “Later.”

Paul nodded, then looked at Mary with appreciation. “But I don’t understand why you took us in before you knew who Scott was.”

She smiled at him, then looked at Scott, who was sitting between her and Paul. “He doesn’t know much about grandmothers and grandsons, does he? I knew who Scott was the moment I saw both of you in the cemetery.”

Scott beamed at her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, I didn’t know who _he_ was,” she said, looking at Paul with a respectful smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Finally.” Paul understood her meaning and smiled. “When Jenny came back from Arizona, she told Hank and me and the Geffners everything.” Paul looked at Hank, who only cleared his throat and sipped some coffee. Tom smiled knowingly at Scott, and Tracy looked at him with curiosity. Mary regarded the others, who didn’t comprehend what she was saying and were waiting for an explanation. She smiled. “Wayne didn’t take it very well, so we decided the rest of them would rather not know.”

“Grandma,” Tracy interrupted, “what are you talking about?”

“When you’re older, dear,” Mary said with a smile. The entire clan groaned, and Mary laughed. “That goes for the rest of you, too!”

Paul still didn’t understand something, and he looked at Tom. “You helped Scott because you knew he was your cousin.” Tom nodded. “Did you tell them?” he asked, indicating Sara and Brian.

“No,” Tom replied. “I couldn’t until later.”

Paul looked at the two. “But why did you help us?”

Sara laughed. “Because Tom asked us to.”

Mary smiled. “Families are based on trust. We know that someone will help, no matter what kind of trouble we’re in.”

Paul looked at Hank. “I don’t think Hank knows that.” Hank looked at Paul with a frown, not sure what he meant but not liking it. “You never let anyone help you.”

Mary looked at her husband with concern. “What is he talking about?”

Hank grunted. “How should I know?”

Paul continued gently, “I’m talking about Jenny, and the accident...and who you really blame.”

An awkward hush fell over the group, and Scott turned to Paul quickly. “Dad, I don’t think we should talk about this right now.”

But Paul would not be swayed. He looked at Hank. “Gordon talked about a wound in the family. I thought it was the accident. But it’s not. I think you should tell them what it is.”

The others were looking at Hank seriously, and Mary got up from her chair and went to stand behind his chair. She placed gentle hands on her husband’s shoulders. “What is it?”

Hank looked at Paul sadly, but without anger.

Paul smiled. “They want to help you, Hank, if you’ll let them.”

Hank began to tremble, and he reached up for Mary’s hand. “Scott’s death was my fault,” he said in a small voice. The room was silent except for the sound of Hank’s quickened breathing. “He shouldn’t have driven my car. The brake fluid was low. I was going to get some. But I was waiting for it to go on sale. I knew how to drive it like that. But then Jenny called Scott and he took my car....”

No one at the table dared move. Mary smiled softly at Hank, tears in her eyes. “Why didn’t you ever tell me, Hank?” She knelt by him as he sat numb silence. “All these years, you’ve thought it was your fault. Scott knew the brake fluid was low. The last thing he said before he got in the car was a joke about you pinching pennies. He knew how to drive it, Hank. He knew. It was an accident.” He began to cry, and she embraced him. The children and grandchildren got up from their chairs and gathered around him in a tearful family embrace. Mary smiled with gratitude at Paul, her face streaked with tears of release and love. Paul smiled.

After dinner, Mary pulled Scott away for a private meeting. He sat on the bed as Mary moved the shoes away from her bedroom closet floor, searching for something. “When Jenny told us about your father and what happened,” she said, “Hank was...well, Hank was Hank. But John and Louise and I knew that you were going to be very special. And we also knew that you were going to have a tough time.” She found what she was looking for and pulled out a flat box. “We didn’t know how long we were going to have a chance to know you, so we decided not to take anything for granted.”

She sat next to Scott and opened the box to reveal some papers and small trinkets. Scott picked up what looked like a knit hat for a doll. “What’s this?”

“It’s the cap you had in the hospital nursery,” she said with a smile. “Blue for a boy.”

Scott stared at it as Mary pulled out a tiny plastic band. She showed it to him. “See? ‘Hayden.’ Your nursery ID bracelet.” Scott took the strip of plastic and marveled at how small it was. She held up a piece of paper. “Your birth certificate.” She winked at him. “Very handy for getting a driver’s license.” Scott took it, and noticed that “Scott William Hayden, deceased” was listed as his father.

Mary hesitated, then with glistening eyes she pulled out a thin volume. “I’m afraid it isn’t much, but you left us so quickly.” She offered it to him. On the book’s pastel cover was imprinted, “Baby Book.” Scott opened to the first page, where two yellowing newspaper clippings were pasted. One headline read, “Meteor Visible in Three States” and the other said, “Feds Mum on ‘Alien’ Search.” He turned the page and there, under a handwritten notation of his birthday, was a photo of a newborn baby who looked small, wrinkled, and not at all amused. He turned the page, and there were all of his official birth statistics carefully written down and even two tiny footprints. On the next page there were more photos, this time of Jenny in her hospital bed holding him, then ones of Mary holding him next to Jenny, and Jenny holding him with two people he didn’t recognize. A handwritten note under the photo identified them as John and Louise Geffner. Everyone was all smiles, and he could practically feel the love radiating from the page.

Scott turned to the next page. It was empty. He turned a few more pages, but they too were empty. He closed the book quietly. Tears rushed up from nowhere and he began to cry. Mary put her arms around him and they cried together.

Paul and Scott left that night. The entire family had chipped in and bought them new clothes and bags, and they even replaced all of Paul’s camera equipment. At first Paul was reluctant to accept such a generous gift, but they insisted that it was the least they could do since he had given them Gordon’s life. Scott reminded him of Brutus McKay’s third rule: “Always let your client pick up the tab.”

As Paul and Scott were leaving, Tom waited for Scott by the door. “Hey, Yoda,” he said with a smile as Scott walked up to him. Scott laughed. “So, it’s too bad you missed Homecoming. It was pretty good.”

“Yeah, well, it’s okay,” Scott shrugged. “There’ll be others. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be in high school ‘til I’m thirty.”

Tom regarded him seriously for a moment. “You know, when you talked about your life and stuff, I thought I envied you. All that travel, and seeing everything like that. But I think now I’m kind of happy where I am.”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, you’ve got a good setup here.”

“Well,” Tom said with a playful wistfulness, “since you probably won’t be back around for like Christmas or your birthday or something....” Tom turned and opened the hall closet. He pulled out his letter jacket and handed it to the amazed Scott. “It kinda doesn’t fit me anymore. I thought maybe you’d like to have it.”

Scott took it silently, his words of gratitude stuck in his throat.

At the door, Mary gave Paul a detailed list of cousins, second cousins and should-be-cousins the two could stay with as far west as Harrisburg, Nebraska. Her last words to them were, “Don’t worry about Mr. Fox. He doesn’t understand family.”

Paul and Scott were walking west through farm country when Scott said, “I’ve been thinking. Do I have grandparents from you?”

“Yes,” he said and smiled.

Scott laughed to himself. “I have three sets of grandparents.”

“Four.”

“Four?”

“Don’t forget Stella.”

“Stella?” Scott said firmly. “She doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” Paul looked at Scott with a faint smile.

“But she was Paul Forrester’s mother....” Paul said nothing while Scott ran it back and forth a few times in his head. “But....” Scott gave up and laughed. “Four sets of grandparents. I must be pretty special.”

Paul laughed and put his arm around him. “I think so.”

OOO


End file.
